Children of the Sun
by Soleil la bijoutiere
Summary: Prevously titled 'Bigger than us'. Rose and Jack manage to survive the sinking and stay together, and after the Carpathia docks, they begin their new life while trying to leave the past behind. It proves to be a difficult task. Now corrected and improved.
1. Absolution

_**Bigger than us**_

_**Chapter 1: Absolution**_

**Author's note: I do not own Jack or Rose (Nevertheless, I'd love to!), they belong to the great James Cameron. Father Byles, Officer Lowe and the two boys in the water, named Rossmore and Eugene Abott, were real people.**

The water was deadly cold. Over hundreds of feet into the water, the silence was absolute. The night, so clear and clean, would have seemed beautiful from the window of a room with a fireplace. But for the unfortunate survivors, it was as dark and frightening as Hell itself.

Jack felt the water reaching his shoulders, so cold that it burned. It seemed that every inch of skin had a knife nailed, and his numb head and arms were bending on the piece of debris. But he needed to go on. He had to make it. He could resist it. Just for a while...

With great effort, he turned his head. Father Byles, who formerly swam back and forth endlessly, had stayed motionless. His brown eyes showed intense suffering and faith. With a last breath, he let his eyelids fall and his bald head fell on a miserable piece of wood. After a few minutes, it began to turn blue.

Jack turned his head again, this time to distinguish two boys. The oldest must have been about sixteen, and the other looked no more than thirteen. They were similar enough to be brothers, and the tallest held the youngest in his arms. Suddenly, the little boy spoke.

"Where's Mom...?" he asked.

"She will come, Gene... She will come" his brother said. His voice was very weak. A few seconds later, he dropped his head and closed his eyes.

"Ross?" the boy said "Ross..."

He was dead. Jack saw how the boy shed a tear, settled on the shoulder of the deceased and remained motionless.

He laid his head on the debris again, unable to stand the thought of seeing someone else die. All those poor people... And all because of a piece of ice. All that suffering, those deaths had been for nothing.

Where were Tommy and Fabrizio? What had happened to them? Were they still alive? It was impossible to know. And little Cora, and her father...?

No, he shouldn't think of them. He would do it later, when it wouldn't hurt so much, when the night wasn't be so cold, when he knew that Rose was finally safe.

Rose. He had her. Her heart belonged to him, and that knowledge was enough to live and die like the happiest man on Earth. Despite the circumstances, he still had some hope; he was still determined to get her out of there.

"It's getting quiet." she suddenly whispered. Her voice was weak.

"It's gonna take a couple of minutes... to get... the boats organized." said Jack. His voice trembled, but it sounded more vibrant than Rose's. "I don't know about you, but I intend to go write a... strongly worded letter to the White Star Line about all this."

His intention was to make her laugh, but he couldn't. She didn't even smile. To see her face, Jack only had the starlight. But she did not looked good. She didn't look good at all.

The skin of her face clung to the bones, as white as a corpse's. The cheerful light was gone from her expression, leaving only two white dots at the bottom of her eyes, which seemed larger than normal and marked by dark circles. Her expression was like the one of a convict awaiting the gallows.

"I love you, Jack." she mumbled.

He raised his head.

"Don't you do that. Don't you say your good-byes. Not yet, do you understand me?"

Rose seemed ready to die with every word she uttered.

"I'm so cold..."

"Listen, Rose." he said, trying to sound firm even though his voice trembled. "You're gonna get out of here. You're gonna go on... and you're gonna make lots of babies, and you're gonna watch them grow. You're gonna die an old... an old lady warm in her bed... Not here. Not this night. Not like this, do you understand me?" The words got stuck in his mouth, and some of them didn't make it past his throat.

"I can't feel my body..." was all that she said.

"Winning that ticket, Rose, was the best thing that ever happened to me... it brought me to you." Jack continued. "And I'm thankful for that, Rose. I'm thankful. You must... you must do me this honor" he added, taking her hand firmly. "You must promise me that you'll survive, that you won't... give up, no matter... what happens, no matter... how hopeless. Promise me now, Rose, and never let go of that promise."

"I... I promise."

He raised her hand to his lips.

"Never let go."

"I'll never let go, Jack... I'll never let go."

With a faint smile, he kissed her hand, then pressed his forehead to hers and hushed.

Hours... Days... Even years seemed to pass while the absolute silence hung over the water. However, Rose, still on the debris, was oblivious to it.

Struggling between life and death, balancing somewhere far away from time and space, she looked at the stars. They literally reflected in the sea. Its brightness was so captivating, so innocent, that it seemed impossible that a catastrophe had just happened. It seemed impossible that so many lives were lost.

"_Come, Josephine... in my flying machine ... going up she goes, up she goes..."_

It was their song. Hers and Jack's.

"_In the air she goes... up she goes... up she goes..."_

She was so peaceful ... So much, that it was almost impossible to fight against temptation. The temptation of closing her eyes and sleeping forever. Of leaving behind the sorrow, pain and fear. Of surrender and let Death cradle her in its arms.

"_My Josephine..."_

After exhaling that verse, she stopped. She breathed heavily, as if knowing that her sighs were numbered. The air coming out of her blue lips froze in the air, becoming a whitish vapor.

"_Come, Josephine in my flying machine..."_

The raspy and weak voice next to her ear made her turn around. Jack chanted the song, with a monumental effort. He was pale, so pale that, hadn't it been for his voice and the sparkle in his eyes, she would have believed he was dead.

"_Going up she goes, up she goes..."_

The ghost of a smile curved the corners of his lips. His hand grabbed to Rose's, and he caressed it affectionately. She was so cold that she almost didn't felt his touch.

"_Balance yourself like a..."_ but he suddenly stopped. Rose thought the worst, until she heard him repeat it "_Balance yourself like__ a..."_

Rose smiled slightly. He had forgotten the lyrics.

"_... Bird on a beam"_ she completed. Jack raised his head slightly and smiled back. The two lovers continued to chant, clasping hands even more tightly.

"_In the air she goes... Where she goes? There she goes! Up, up, a little bit higher... Oh, moon is on fire..."_

But suddenly a light flashed in the distance. It disappeared for a few seconds, then reappeared. It was just a speck of a warm yellow, illuminating the water surface. A male voice, strong and deep, with an Welsh accent, screamed.

"Is there anyone alive out there? Can anyone hear me?"

Jack turned his head, until he clearly saw a boat. Rose opened her mouth and eyes.

Jack turned to her, his face serious.

"I... I told you" he murmured. "Don't shout. I can barely hear... myself."

With these words, he let go of her hand and began to tilt one side of debris. Rose startled when she felt it moving, and clung desperately to the edge.

"No, no, don't worry. Do you trust me?"

Rose gulped.

"I trust you." And she plunged into the water, letting out a muffled groan.

"Come. Swim." Jack said, taking her hand once again. He headed to the deceased officer Wilde. A whistle could be seen between his lips. Without being told, Rose knew what Jack was doing. He took the whistle, cleaned it a little and blew.

A high-pitched beep stabbed the air, attracting the men in the boat.

"Turn around!" Lowe shouted.

His flashlight illuminated the two youngsters, deadly white and purple-lipped. As the boat approached, Jack continued blowing, in a stronger and more determined way. He stopped when Lowe was about a half meter of distance.

"Pick them up!" he exclaimed. One of the sailors took Jack by the shoulders and got him into the boat, while another did the same with Rose.

"Give them some blankets." Lowe ordered "Keep them warm!"

"Are you okay?" Jack asked, stroking her face. Rose nodded.

"I'm fine." He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, and finally her lips. After that, he embraced her tightly.

"I love you." he whispered, with another kiss on her cheek "I'm sorry... I didn't say it before."

Rose smiled.

"It was not necessary. I already knew it."

Warmly embraced, they both fell asleep.


	2. Ruth Becker

_**Bigger than us**_

_**Chapter 2: The Carpathia**_

**Author's note: Ruth Becker and her family actually were in second class, not third, but this is called fan fiction for some reason. Again, I do not own the characters. They were real people or property of James Cameron.**

Rose woke up first. She lay on the hard and tottering surface of the boat, surrounded by two blankets and Jack's arms.

The dazzling sunlight almost blinded her, and she put a hand against her eyes. The sky was of a faded blue, as if dawn had showed up long ago. Despite the two blankets, she was shivering. There was still no wind.

When she accustomed to the light, she gasped. As far as she could see, the sea was covered with icebergs. Neither of them were as big or as terrible as one that had killed the Titanic, but just looking at one of those ice blocks gave her goose bumps. Despite the revulsion and almost fear that now they caused to her, she couldn't help but thinking that they were beautiful, like huge pearls or diamonds drifting, casting white, blue, yellow and even pink flashes.

A hundred feet away, there was a ship. It looked rather small, and had a single funnel, but at the same time it was the warmest vision she could think of. In the hull was written the name "Carpathia".

Still too sleepy to react, Rose outstretched her members. When she extended her wrists and neck, they cracked like doors that lack oil, and she let out a groan.

That slight noise was enough to wake Jack. He raised his head, yawned and slowly opened his stunning blue eyes. He seemed as calm as if he hadn't done more than take a nap, and even smiled a little when he saw Rose with him. Nevertheless, when he turned around and saw the ocean and icebergs, the calm and his smile disappeared without a trace. After looking the other boats for several moments, he looked at Rose and sighed.

"So that really happened, eh?"

Rose nodded sadly.

"Yes."

Both were silent for a while, just holding each other. Words would have been too much.

After about ten minutes, Jack looked up at the Carpathia. A hopeful spark shone in his eyes.

"Is that the ship that will take us to New York?" he asked to one of the rowers.

"Yes, sir. The boats are being picked up right now." he answered.

As he turned his attention to Rose once again, he smiled.

"There it is, Rose. I told you I'm lucky. We are alive, together and safe." he said.

"What more could you ask for?" Rose asked jokingly. Jack laughed softly as he placed a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Well... two things. First, I'd like it if the weather was a little bit warmer. Instead of the Atlantic, this feels like the Arctic. And two... Do you still want to go with me?"

Rose nodded vigorously.

"Yes. That's all I want in the world." she said fervently.

"Then, I want to spend my whole life with you."

The girl's eyes widened and she smiled.

"Are you asking me to marry you?"

Jack shrugged.

"If you say so..."

Rose let out the first real laugh that she released in hours. She kissed Jack on the mouth and threw her arms around his neck.

"Yes, yes, yes! A million times yes!"

. . .

The Carpathia picked up the boat number 14 half an hour later. In it were just Jack, Rose, Officer Lowe, the rowers and four survivors who were rescued from the water. The passengers were hoisted one by one by ropes and with the help of the crew, who offered brandy, hot tea or extra blankets. Rose refused everything but Jack took a couple of cups of tea for them.

"You have to drink something" he said "And this will take the cold away."

With the second excuse, Rose had to yield.

The two sat down on a bench in the stern, the part of the ship where the third class passengers were. They were people of all ages, races and hair colors, but all of them shared the same feeling: Loss. Children who played did it with reluctance, even the babies seemed unusually quiet. Mothers and widows had their heads bowed and wept silently. The few men who had survived walked from side to side, smoking or looking for their relatives there. It was a discouraging spectacle.

As if from nowhere, a blonde girl with creamy complexion planted in the ground near Rose.

"Excuse me, ma'am, can I sit here?" she asked. Rose and Jack made room on the bench and the girl sat down. It was somewhat difficult to estimate her age. On the one hand, she measured over six foot, and her dark eyes reflected maturity. On the other, her features were almost childish. Less than eighteen, but more than ten.

"I'm Ruth Becker" she introduced herself, stretching her hand cordially. Rose took it.

"My name is Rose De... Dawson. Rose Dawson" she said "And this is my husband, Jack."

Jack looked at her, surprised, but Rose requested with a look to not disclose her surname.

"Delighted" said Ruth Becker "Do you travel alone?" asked. It was obvious that she was trying to be polite, and Rose appreciated it.

"Yes. We are returning home from Southampton. We come from..."

"Wisconsin" Jack completed.

"I'm an American too. Well, my family is, but I was born in India."

"Really?" Jack asked, interested.

"Yes. My father is director of an orphanage in Guntur. But my little brother got sick and the doctor told us that he wouldn't survive with the weather, so Mom, my siblings and I decided to return to Michigan. My dad is still there in India, because he doesn't have permission to depart yet. Now I'm glad of that."

Rose nodded, understanding what she meant.

"What about your mother and siblings? Where are they?"

"I don't know. The last time I saw them, they were boarding a boat. My mother was pushed inside, and told me to get into another boat. But I know they are on board" she added.

Rose and Jack spent some time talking with Ruth. She was a nice girl, independent and witty, and soon they discovered that she was twelve. Jack told her stories of his travels in Europe, pretending that he had met Rose in London and that they got married there, while Ruth recounted episodes of her life in India. After several minutes, a young stewardess of the ship approached and touched her shoulder.

"Excuse me, are you Ruth Becker?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Your mother is looking for you. She is in the starboard side."

Ruth's diamond-shaped face lightened.

"I'm going right now. A pleasure talking with you, Mr. and Mrs. Dawson. I hope you arrive safely to Wisconsin."

After shaking hands once again she went after the stewardess.

"Nice, huh?" Jack said.

"Yes. And lucky. You have found your pairs, Mr. Dawson, haven't you?"

"Sure, 'Mrs. Dawson'"

Rose gave him a nudge in the ribs and they both laughed softly. Jack suddenly turned his head to look behind Rose's shoulder... and the smile disappeared.

"_You won't find any of your people back here, sir. It's all steerage."_

Rose made a motion to look back, but Jack grabbed her shoulders and pulled her closer.

"Don't turn around. It's Cal."


	3. Farewell to an unpleasant character

**Jack, Rose, Cal and Ruth DeWitt Bukater are property of James Cameron. Lucile Duff-Gordon and the Countess of Rothes were real people.**

Jack covered Rose's head with a blanket, so her distinctive red hair wouldn't betray her. Rose made sure that it was completely hidden, and stood still like a statue.

Jack also covered himself. As much as he would like to kill that man, he wouldn't make a scene in that moment. He would not put Rose in danger.

They heard the sound of shoes tapping against the deck, but they couldn't turn their heads to see how close he was. They didn't even dare to breathe too loudly.

Cal walked back and forth, looking for any clue that led him to Rose. He thought it would be easy. A beautiful young redhead with a sleek, lightweight dress could not be that hard to find. But of course, that was what he had told Lovejoy, and eventually he had to wait until she returned. Lovejoy ... How useful he would have been in that moment. The last time he saw Jack and Rose, in the dining room, was also the last time he saw him.

Only now he realized how stupid he had been. If he hadn't pursued them with the gun, perhaps he would still have hoped to find Rose, to convince her to return with him. He would treat her better this time, he said to himself. If the Lord had left her live, and gave her the good sense to go back with him, he would be good to her. He wouldn't hit her again, he would treat her like a queen for the rest of her days, and especially, he would not tell her any unpleasant word about that affair with Dawson.

Dawson. Just thinking about him made him want to break something. The uneducated, dirty and sneaky steerage rat, who somehow had managed to seduce _his_ fiancée. If he found him, he would throw him overboard when no one was looking. And if he had lived, and Rose hadn't... He tried to remove those thoughts from his head. Rose _had_ to be alive. Rose had to be well...

For what seemed like hours, he searched and searched in the deck, but eventually he had to admit it. There was no sign of them.

A part of him burst into calumnies against Rose, calling her irresponsible, impulsive, prostitute, and worse, and against Dawson **(calling him things I will not repeat)**. Damn both! They had decided to die together. And they did! Nice tripto Hell, ungrateful rats.

But another part of him, which until then he had not noticed, seemed to collapse. It felt as if someone hit him in the stomach, leaving him with no air. Suddenly, his limbs were numb. And he cursed himself for insulting Rose. He continued blaming himself for her death, and mourning over her. He wanted her to be there again, to look at him, even if it was with disdain, to speak to him, even if she didn't forgive him.

He sighed heavily and finally started walking back to first class.

. . .

Ruth, Rose's mother, was sitting next to Lady Duff-Gordon and the Countess of Rothes, who patted her back and gave her words of encouragement.

"Don't worry, Ruth. She must be there. Mr. Hockley will find her soon and she will be back to you" the countess said.

"Besides" Lady Duff-Gordon added "She is a first-class young woman. Chances of her not surviving are a million to one."

Ruth nodded, but she was doubtful. In those moments everything seemed surreal. She loved her daughter. She had been selfish, she could no longer deny it, but she loved her and just wanted what she considered best for her. And what she thought was best for her was a wealthy husband, beautiful jewels and a quiet and luxurious life.

Silently, she prayed for Rose's life.

"Here he comes!" the countess exclaimed. Ruth raised her head, looking for her daughter, but she only saw Cal, slowly approaching. For a moment she hoped Rose would come after him, but she did not.

A few minutes later, Cal was standing before her. His black eyes were dull and dispirited as they looked to the ground.

"So...? " she asked.

Cal looked up, and she knew what he was going to say.

"I did not find her. I'm sorry, Ruth. Truly sorry."

And, for once, he meant it.

. . .

"Oh, my God..." Rose whispered, leaning back against the bench "That was close."

"Really close." Jack agreed.

Rose remained there for several minutes, looking down and saying nothing. Jack looked at her with slight concern. Suddenly, he opened his arms, inviting her to curl up in them. Rose did so, marveling at how he seemed to know exactly what she needed.

"Relax. He's never going to find you. I swear it."

They remained embraced for several moments. Finally they let go, but Rose kept her head on Jack's shoulder. He wrapped the blanket better around her body, in an attempt to keep her warm, and stroked her left hand. Rose, to warm up a little more, put her right hand into the pocket of the coat Cal had given to her. In doing so, she felt a cold, hard object at the bottom.

Startled, she raised her head and closed her hand around it.

"What's goin' on?" asked Jack. Rose pulled out a closed hand from the pocket. And, when she opened it, she revealed the 'Heart of the ocean'.

"Shit." was all Jack said. Rose was equally surprised, but she managed to speak.

"He must have returned to the suite to retrieve it after I went to look for you" she said. After taking another look at the necklace, she said "I don't think that's all he went to retrieve."

"Neither do I. Check the other."

Rose put her left hand in the other pocket. This time she felt something soft, like papers tied in bundles.

"Bills. I will not get them out, not here" she said.

"Don't. It would attract attention."

"Although it appears that there are many bills. And Cal said I was carrying too much luggage."

"We'll count them soon as the ship arrives to New York. Money may be Cal's, but it will help us to eat and sleep."

"I think he would have a heart attack if he knew that his money is going to help a rat and his prostitute" Rose said jokingly, but as the words escaped from her mouth, she knew she would have done better by not saying them.

"What?" Jack asked, astonished "I know that he considers me a rat, but how did you said that he called you?"

"Nothing. It's nothing, seriously."

"Rose..."

The girl sighed.

"He called me prostitute. Twice."

"When?"

"The first time was right after you were arrested. When my mother left the room, he hit... he said that."

However, Jack did not miss anything.

"He hit you?"

Rose conceded defeat with another sigh.

"Yes. He slapped me and told me I was a slut. If it weren't for that officer that came to tell us about the lifebelts... And after, when I ran to find you, he took my arm and asked me where I was going. There was no need to say it. He said that I was going to be a whore to a gutter rat. I replied that I rather be that than his wife, and I spit in his face. I was never so proud of myself."

Jack smiled briefly upon hearing the last part, but his face immediately retrieved a serious expression.

"If I had known, I would have... No, don't interrupt me. I would have thrown him into the sea last night. Hitting a woman is too much even for him."

After a few seconds of silence, Jack spoke again.

"Was it first time it happened?"

"Yes. Well... in essence, yes, but yesterday morning... Oh, what the hell. Just before the church service, we were having breakfast on the private promenade deck. Suddenly he asked why I hadn't ... come to him the night before" The mention, even euphemistically, that Cal had tried to sleep with her disgusted her to death. "I told him I was tired, but apparently he had sent Lovejoy to spy us and he knew I was at the party with you. So when I told him he couldn't give me orders, he..."

"What, overturned the table?" Jack said sarcastically. Rose looked down, and her silence was clearer than water.

"Rose, tell me he didn't."

"Yes. He overturned it and yelled that I was his wife in practice and that I had to honor him. That I would not make a fool of him. Then he left me alone with the maid to clean up the broken glass."

Jack felt like when Lovejoy hit him in the stomach.

"That son of a..."

"Shh, Jack. It's alright. I mean, it was not right, it was horrible, but there's nothing we can do about it now. What happened, happened. And it will never happen again."

"Never. Nothing will hurt you, not while I live."

"I know. I love you" she said again, burying her head in his chest.


	4. In which we reencounter

_**Chapter 4: In which we reencounter…**_

**I do not own Jack, Rose or any of the others. They all belong to James Cameron (genius!).**

The next morning surprised her asleep on that same bench. The night before, Jack, in a display of chivalry, told her to sleep there while he settled on the ground with a blanket as a mattress and another as a cover. Rose protested, of course, but she soon realized that Jack could be as stubborn as her. The difference was that he never lost patience.

Her left hand leaned to the floor next to Jack's, and she just needed a minute to remember that they had fallen asleep holding hands, gazing at the stars. She smiled tenderly.

But her smile lasted only until she incorporated. When she lifted her back slightly, she again heard that sound of creaking wood, and let out another involuntary groan. She put her hand on her waist and rubbed a bit to loosen up, but every move she made hurt. Sleeping on a bench was definitely not novelistic. She decided that, if it was possible, she would not sleep in one of those again. Never. Even the ground seemed a better option.

Jack's quiet and deep breathing became more regular, indicating that he was also waking up. Rose turned her head to look at him and smiled again. He covered his mouth to yawn, and then blinked several times, getting used to the bright sunlight.

"Good morning" Rose said.

"Good... good morning" Jack answered, yawning again.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked.

"Like a baby. And you?"

"Mmhh, it depends on how you qualify "well"" she said, moving and groaning again when she heard her joints creak. Jack laughed. Rose frowned in mock anger.

"Sure, it's easy for you, Look! You sleep like a log. In both senses."

Jack laughed even harder, took Rose's face in his hands and kissed her lips, effectively silencing her.

"Thanks for the compliment." he said smiling. Rose stayed stunned by the kiss, looking at his piercing blue eyes that seemed to cross her soul, and almost instinctively she bent timidly and kissed him again. Jack, taken almost by surprise, replied with sweetness and both closed their eyes, savoring the moment. Rose put her hand on his neck to pull him even closer, not wanting the kiss to end, and literally it finalized only when the two ran out of air. As their mouths separated, Jack got to his feet and helped her to sit on the bench.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

"Starving. We barely ate last night."

"Wait here. I'll be right back."

A few minutes later, the two ate some onion soup and warm bread. The soup was served in a coarse metal bowl, which gave it a strange flavor, and the bread was a little hard, but Rose swallowed it like one of those first class dishes.

"No." she said, when Jack pointed that out "I couldn't eat like that in public. Women always have to eat like birds, so they won't "scare the men", as Rachel said."

"Who?

"Rachel. My governess. She was also something like my etiquette teacher, always telling me what I should do or not in public. Between my mother and her, my childhood was a martyrdom."

"Could you tell me? Well..." Jack seemed to be searching for the right words "I want to know more about you."

"I understand. But only if you tell of your childhood afterwards."

"Deal."

"Alright… I was born in Philadelphia, in February twelfth, eighteen ninety five. About fifty seconds after my birth, my mother gave me a governess, Rachel McAlison, to educate me well and teach me to be a "proper lady". When I was thirteen, my father… well, he got sick." she stopped, no doubt reliving the memories. "We found out he had been hiding that he had consumption."

"I'm sorry." Jack said.

"It doesn't matter. It was a long time ago." she answered. "He had an attack in Christmas Eve. Since then, things were never the same. Mother was never the same again." She clicked her tongue and breathed deeply. "I didn't meet Cal until I was sixteen, in a cotillion party. He started following me around, escorting us in all parties, sending me flowers… Mother was already rubbing her hands for his fortune."

Jack let out a short whistle.

"Your life seriously seems to have been a martyrdom" Rose laughed wryly.

"I bet yours wasn't." she said, somewhat sadly.

"It wasn't a paradise on earth, but it was not bad" he said, as thinking "Chippewa Falls is in the middle of nowhere, but it's a nice place to grow up. My mom said I learned to draw as soon as I realized that paper and pencils existed." Rose smiled. "When I was fifteen, there was a forest fire that hit our house. They managed to get me out, but they couldn't save themselves. After burying them, I hopped on a train and I have not return to Chippewa Falls since then. Then I traveled around Los Angeles, New York, Paris... In a small town in Italy, Monte San Savino, I met a boy named Fabrizio De Rossi..."

In that moment, his voice broke. Fabrizio. His image appeared in his head, like a ghost chasing him. He had so many dreams of going to America, so much hope... Now he didn't even know if he was alive.

"Jack?

Rose's voice pulled him out from his thoughts.

"Fabrizio was your friend, who traveled with you on the..."

"On the ship. Yes."

Rose pursed her lips and lowered her voice.

"Do you know if he's alright?"

His silence was more than enough. Rose looked at him sadly, wishing she could do something to cheer him. Seeing him so sad was torture for her, who just wanted to make him happy. Rose had no friends who had died in the sinking, fortunately. She could not understand how he felt. But she could comfort him.

"Do you want to go and see if there's a survivor list?" asked "Maybe he is alright, or in the ship's infirmary. We'll have to go there later, too, and ask someone to check on you. " she added as an afterthought.

Jack forced a half smile, noting the effort she made to seem optimistic. Rose was not a very good liar. At least not for him. He could read everything she thought or felt in her eyes, and there wasn't hope. She just wanted to help him to feel better. He hadn't the guts to disappoint her.

"Okay." he murmured. Rose took him gently by the hand and raised him from the bench. A uniformed steward of the Cunard Line was standing a few feet away, offering blankets and tea to passengers.

"Excuse me." Rose said. "Do you happen to have a survivors list?"

"Of course, ma'am, but it is incomplete. You could wait until we land, when we will have collected all the names." the steward said.

"Thank you."

Rose walked towards Jack and gave him the news. Jack simply nodded and said "Okay" before falling silent again. The girl looked at him little longer, and she saw that he seemed to be in a faraway place.

"Want to go for a walk? The morning is beautiful." she said.

"Sure." he responded, barely paying attention. Rose finally closed her eyes and let out what she thought.

"Jack, please don't do this. Seeing you so sad kills me."

"You don't understand... Fabrizio had dreamed with going to America all his life. To find a better life, to support his family in Italy. I promised him I would take him to New York, just as you promised me that you would survive. If I hadn't told him and Tommy to go to the other side of the ship..."

"Shh..." she interrupted, taking his hand "Jack, listen. You couldn't know what would happen. You were trying to save their lives, and you probably did. This time I don't say I'm not lying. I really think so."

Jack did not respond. He was looking down and seemed to be processing what Rose said. She decided to change tactics.

"Besides... even if they didn't made it, do you think they would have liked you to blame yourself for that? Think about it... If you hadn't survived, and I had been able to make it, would you like me to sit there, crying for your death? I know you wouldn't, you would want me to go on. You said it yourself. To be happy, to fulfill my dreams. Tommy and Fabrizio would be honored if you do that."

_She's right. That's what you did when your parents died. Go on, no matter how much it hurts._ Jack raised his head and looked at Rose. Her eyes were moist at the edges, and she looked at him with love and concern. _And you have her. You have Rose._

"Yes. You're right" he murmured, leaning over to stroke her cheek.

. . .

"You really said that?"

"What? To who?"

It was noon, and they walked calmly around the deck, holding hands.

"To Cal. That you'd rather be my… well, that you..."

"Yes. He stood there frozen, looking... I do not know how, stunned. Then he reacted, tried to stop me and I spat in his face. You have no idea of how wonderful it was, I felt able to do anything."

Jack listened, fascinated.

"That bastard deserved it. But, if I had been in your place, and not handcuffed in the office of the Master-at-arms, I would've broken his nose." Rose laughed.

"I know, but I had no time. I just wanted to distract him and go after you. By the way, why did the Master-at-arms let you there to drown?"

"He didn't leave me there, Lovejoy did. The Master-at-arms was controlling a peat in second class, or so they said, so he left Lovejoy there to "take care of me". A while later, when he noticed that the ship was sinking, he came up to me, hit me in the stomach and left with the key to the handcuffs."

"The man always gave me a bad feeling, even before he Cal sent him to spy on us. Once when we were in London, he..."

But they were interrupted by a blur of brown hair that hit Rose. A little girl fell on the floor.

"Ouch! Sorry, Miss." said a sharp little voice, while she pushed back her hair. The gesture revealed her round cheeks, full pink lips and chocolate brown eyes, which she opened in surprise when she recognized them.

"Uncle Jack?" she asked, standing up.

"Cora!" he cried, kneeling to embrace her.

"Uncle Jack! I knew you were alive! I knew you were alright! Daddy was right!" Cora squealed, throwing her arms around his neck.

"And I knew you were alright too."

"I missed you" the little girl said, snuggling against his shoulder "Daddy and I got out through a broken gate, and we got into one of the boats. What happened to you?"

"Well... it's a long history. Cora, do you remember Rose?"

Cora looked up and smiled.

"Oh, yes! You're the first class girl who came to dance with us."

"Yes, that's me" said Rose, smiling back.

"Your dress was beautiful that night. You looked like one of the princesses in fairy tales."

Rose let out a musical laugh, succumbing to the charm of the little girl.

"Thank you."

Cora turned her head to talk to Jack.

"Uncle Jack, am I still your best girl?" she asked. Jack frowned, confused.

"Why do you ask?"

"Because after the dance Fabrizio said you were in love. Is it true?"

Jack grinned.

"Yes."

"With her?" Cora asked, looking up to Rose.

"Yes. But don't be sad. That doesn't means that I love you less."

"I'm not sad. I like you two being in love. You look very nice together. But I was jealous when you went to dance with her. I'm sorry." she added, bowing her head.

"Oh, it doesn't matter, darling." Rose said, stroking her thick hair "I would have been jealous too, in your place. You don't find a dance partner like Jack every day."

Cora giggled.

"Yes, you're right" she agreed.


	5. Lady Liberty

_**Chapter 5: Lady Liberty**_

**Author's note: Thanks for all the beautiful reviews and good wishes. From now on, I'll update every Thursday. Be happy; it's summer in my country!**

Jack and Rose spent the next two days with the Cartmells. Cora's mother had travelled to America before her husband and daughter, so she was not with them. Fortunately, Cora didn't seem too traumatized by the sinking, as she had fallen asleep in the boat and had not seen the ship split in two, and her father Bert was infinitely grateful for that. "I have a good story to tell my political family," he said constantly. Still, Jack noticed that his voice, formerly loud and jolly, was very low, timid and small, and sounded as if he was scared of waking someone up. Now Bert rarely smiled; he spent most of the day looking after Cora, gazing around nervously and praying. He thought Jack hadn't noticed, but he knew Bert would stay that way for a long time. So would he.

Before they knew it was Thursday, April 18, and the Carpathia docked in New York.  
They arrived quite late at night. A curtain of rain fell from the dark blue sky, hindering the view, but Jack and Rose, standing on the deck with their hands clasped, could see a tall figure drawn out of the fog. As the ship approached, the silhouette became more and more clear. A few minutes later, they were right below it.  
"The Statue of Liberty..." Rose murmured. The raindrops were falling down her cheeks like tears.

Lady Liberty, in all her glory, stood proudly on her pedestal. The golden torch lit from the crown of seven points to her bare feet. Her face carved in copper stared to Europe; challenging, bold and beautiful, daring someone to put her power in doubt. It was the symbol of protection for the homeless, the embodiment of light for the oppressed. It was the emblem of a new life.

"_'__Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp" cries she with silent lips "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming sh__ore. Send this, the homeless, tempest__tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden __do__or'"_ Rose mumbled.

"What's that?" Jack asked.

"'The New Colossus', a sonnet." she said "It's about the statue. One of my favourites."

Jack watched her face carefully, while Rose kept her eyes fixed on the monument. Her ethereally white skin seemed to have its own light, as well as her emerald eyes. She remained solemn, respectful, standing like the statue she was looking at. The raindrops continued sliding down her face. However, it took Jack a few seconds to realize that they were not raindrops.

Rose turned her head to look. Her lips trembled, and tears of joy escaped from her eyes.

"I'm free" she murmured.

Jack banished the tears from her face with his hand.

"_We_ _are_ free" he corrected.

She smiled and laid her head on his shoulder.

They remained embraced for a while, away from the rest of the world, until an officer with an umbrella over his head and a list under his arm approached them.

"Can I take your name, sir?" he asked.

Jack and Rose separated a little. He looked at her face a second and smiled.

"Dawson. Jack and Rose Dawson."

The officer thanked them, noted their names on the list and walked to other passengers.

. . .

"Tomorrow we'll take a train to San Francisco. Lucy's brother lives there, we are going to stay with him and his wife until we can get our own home." Bert Cartmell said, as he went down to the dock with Cora in his arms. "Jack, you have been here before, do you know some affordable hotel?"

"Yeah, some. There is one around Greenwich Village, a few blocks from here."

"Well, we can go there, can't we, Cora?"

"Mhhh... What?" she yawned, half asleep "Yes, Daddy..."

"Better get to Greenwich Village before Morpheus kidnaps her" Rose teased, but she yawned too.

"Who?" Bert asked, confused.

"The Greek god of dreams."

"Oh."

As soon as they set a foot on solid ground, they had to face the multitude. There were relatives of the passengers, reporters, photographers with blinding cameras and even several policemen to contain the crowd. It was as if all Manhattan had gathered there to receive the Carpathia. In passing, several reporters approached and asked questions such as "What happened to you? How'd you survive? Are you a family? ". Rose covered her face with a blanket. The last thing she wanted was Cal seeing her in some newspaper photograph.

In some mysterious way, they managed to make their way, and found that the New York streets were fairly quiet. The rain made the pavement a bit slippery and hampered the sight, but it was not strong enough to discourage them.

A walk of about thirty minutes led them to an area with red brick buildings on both sides of the street. It was more than ten o' clock, and there was no trace of light in almost all of the windows, but the place where they stopped seemed open. Like the others, it was of red brick, with four stories and windows with rounded tops. It looked old, but clean and neat.

Jack knocked on the door with his knuckles three times. A stout woman in her sixties, with motherly airs, silver hair and bright worried-looking blue eyes opened.

"God! What are you doing out there in the rain? Come and enter!" she said. "But clean your shoes on the carpet, please" she asked, closing the door behind Bert. Jack wiped the mud off his shoes, while Rose discovered her head.

"Need a couple of rooms for tonight, dears?" the woman asked.

"Yes, ma'am" Jack answered.

"Call me Mrs. Rogers, please. Names?" she asked, putting on some old reading glasses, opening a book and taking a pen.

"Jack and Rose Dawson, and Bert and Cora Cartmell."

"Thank you. You are lucky, tonight we are almost empty. The fee is three dollars, dears."

Rose dug her hand in the pocket of the coat, praying that there was some change, and biting her lip when she saw that there was none. Trying to seem innocent, she put a hundred dollar bill in the woman's outstretched hand.

Mrs. Rogers, who had never in her life seen a hundred dollar bill, or lost her composure, opened her eyes wide and the spectacles fell off her face. Her mouth also hang open.

"Why, I've never…!"

"Please, keep the change." Rose said, her humble tone contrasting the content of the phrase. It was something a millionaire would say to a bellboy in a fancy suite of the Ritz, not to a Lower Manhattan hotel owner. Soon, she felt Mrs. Rogers' eyes appraising her, and for a moment, gazing at her pocket. She must have realized how impolite that was, for she averted her eyes, cleared her throat and stood up with her back as straight as she could.

"Breakfast is served at ten in the morning, lunch at half past one and dinner at six in the evening." She informed them, while guiding them to the stairs and climbing them. "The dining room is next to the lobby and there is a bathroom on each floor, which I hope you will not mind sharing."

Upon reaching the first floor, she removed a key chain from her dress pocket and fit a key into the lock of a couple of rooms.

"Good night. If you have any questions or problems, tell me." she concluded, and disappeared down the stairs. As soon as Mrs. Rogers was away Bert looked at Jack with a mixture of curiosity and amusement on his face.

"Jack and Rose Dawson?" he asked smiling.

"It was her idea" Jack said, pointing to Rose. She opened her mouth in false outrage and put her hands on her hips.

"My idea? It was you who gave our names to the steward!"

"Yes, but you told that girl, Ruth Becker, that I was your husband."

"You didn't say you were not."

Jack shrugged, feigning innocence. Bert laughed, something he seldom did in those days.

"You already talk like a married couple. Remind me of my Lucy and myself. Well, I'll take Cora to sleep. Good night."

"Good night, Bert" Jack said. Rose made a hand salute.

As soon as Bert was out of sight and the door of his room closed, they kissed softly, entered the room and shut the door to the rest of the world.

. . .

Mrs. Rogers did not go to sleep until eleven o' clock, a time when, she had learned over the years, no customers would show up. Nonetheless, the bill she had received that evening would allow her to buy food and other necessities without the help new customers for a week or maybe longer, she thought with a mixture of delight and puzzlement.

Mrs. Dawson did not seem rich; quite on the contrary. Her hair was loose, soaked and limp, and Mrs. Rogers did not want to sound rude, but she smelled as if she hadn't taken a bath in days. Her companions looked the same way. Mr. Dawson and Mr. Cartmell wore working-class garments; Cartmell's daughter was clad in a little nightgown under two sweaters of coarse wool.

"Who on earth goes out on a night like this, wearing their bedclothes and coats?", she wondered while putting on her own nightgown. Her age and experience, tending mostly poor people from the streets, had given her many answers to it.

"Could they be running away? They did look like they dressed hurriedly. Maybe they were kicked out of their previous home like the Appletons, who lodge here since last week." she said to herself. "Anyway, Mary, it's not of your business." she added. "If they are running away, they will depart tomorrow and you'll never see them again."

After praying, she turned off the lamp and tried to sleep, lullabied by the sound of the rain against the window. But the questions didn't leave her.

"Who are they…?"


	6. Of Tenants and Landlords

_Chapter 6: Of tenants and landlords._

_Disclaimer: I do not own James Cameron's "Titanic" nor Friedrich Nietzsche's "The Antichrist". I don't even like the last one, but I've always wanted to write a nihilist character. And sorry for being evil and not updating (sad face)._

There were eleven people in Mrs. Rogers' hotel that night, but only eight of them were able to sleep. Now that it's dark, let us pause to analyze them. Some of them might be important later; the reader must decide who.

There was the Appleton family, consisting of a father, mother and two teenage daughters. As Mrs. Rogers knew, they had been kicked out of their previous home for not paying the rent on time, and Mr. John Appleton currently struggled to find a permanent job, which was, for some reason, a difficult task. Meanwhile, his two daughters were educated by their mother until they could send them to school again. It was a clan with unremarkable customs, not including the lessons that Mrs. Appleton gave her daughters, in a voice so loud that it could be heard in the lobby, and which used to annoy the landlady.

"'What is good?'" asked the mother, with the voice of a military sergeant.

"'Anything-that-increases-our-sense-of-power, the-will-for-power, power-itself-in-man.'" the daughters answered.

"'What is bad?'"

"'Anything-that-originates-in-weakness.'"

"Very good! You've memorized it. Now, what's the most important lesson that this book teaches?"

"God is dead!"

Quite often, Ms. Rogers would sing to block out the sound of such words, which attacked her faith like a sword attacks an enemy's bare chest.

There was Mr. Young, a man who always wore nice but wrinkled three-piece suits, had a three-day stubble and a marked penchant for strong black coffee. He was a writer, or harbored wishes of being so, and he spent almost every night awake, writing short stories to sell them to newspapers and avoid starvation. The quality of his writing could be questioned, but he was a man of good character and never gave Mrs. Rogers any kind of trouble. Maybe if she knew that some parts of his writings were read aloud several times a week at a tavern in the Bowery, and much admired by avoidable people for their ... umh, "passionate style", maybe she wouldn't appreciate him as much as she did.

There was also Mr. Pickett. About this man's personality, it can only be said that he was reserved. "Silent" would actually be the best word. He never talked to anyone, not even when the landlady tried to make conversation during meals, leading her to think he might be mute. He was, however, a great listener, and she used to tell him about her problems in moments when she felt tired. Perhaps the other tenants did the same, but she couldn't be sure. He had never said that led her to think that way.

Mary Rogers, wife of Andrew Rogers, had been mother of two boys, now grown and with families of their own, and currently residing in Pittsburgh. Their parents had heard that managed to make good fortune in that city and lived comfortably. Although they were naturally proud of their offspring, they were also quite resentful, since their children had never offered to help them with their business or to remember them in any way, except of course, for Christmas cards and birthday gifts that arrived a month late.

Because she had attended a hotel for most of her life, as well as because she had a remarkable intuition, Mrs. Rogers fancied herself to be a good judge of others' personalities. She had learned that Mr. Appleton did not know the meaning of the word "no" as soon as he demanded her a room, but anyone could deduce that by seeing how he persisted in his attempts to get a job, despite the fact that his reputation as a troublemaker had already spread throughout Lower Manhattan. His wife was the same. As for the daughters, Mrs. Rogers felt sorry for them; so young and already forced to memorize a doctrine that would assuredly cause problems in a world where respectable people (or those who pretended to be so) attended church from time to time.

Mr. Young lived inside his head and cups of coffee. When he arrived, looking dreamily at nowhere in particular and asking her to repeat her questions, she assumed that he was absent-minded. She spoke to him directly and clearly, put laundry where he could find it easily and constantly reminded when the rent was due. Although the latter may simply be a universal habit of landlords.

Now, let us put an end to descriptions and focus on these people.

The Appletons slept peacefully, the parents on the bed and the two girls on a couple of blankets on the floor. The youngest snored loudly.

Mr. Young was, as usual, bent over his typewriter, sipping coffee to stay awake and occasionally checking his watch. He was trying to write a "magnum opus" to publish it as a novel and earn fame and fortune, but until then the most remarkable thing about his composition was the lack of punctuation marks.

Mr. Pickett was asleep, frowning and apparently having a bad dream. At midnight he woke up, sat down to light an oil lamp, took from his briefcase a framed photograph of a beautiful woman, with a tuft of brown hair attached, and wept without producing any noise. He returned to sleep with the photograph close to his heart.

Bert Cartmell stayed awake all night, staring at the ceiling, haunted by recently lived terrifying images. He hated to admit that he was afraid of falling asleep. Every now and then he embraced his daughter as if she were a teddy bear, and whispered some prayers to calm himself.

The Dawsons hadn't given much thought to fear, but that did not stop it from hovering over them as soon as they turned off the lights. They thought, like they had throughout the trip to New York, that the presence of the other would keep nightmares away. When one is young and full of hope, one tends to have that kind of ideas. However, that night they would realize that even love is not enough to heal a certain kind of wounds.

Faces as white as paper, or chalk, with blue lips and unseeing eyes sneaked in their in their dreams. Instead of screams, they only heard a terrible silence. No one had the will or the energy to swim at all, and the only thing that prevented them from drowning were their lifebelts. A dead mother held her dead baby in her arms. The death rattles had ended a long while ago.

The sleeping youths soon began to sweat.

During the following day they would assuredly console each other, and try to forget those dreams. But both were smart enough to know that a tragedy like the one they had just gone through was not something that could be forgotten overnight.

Each one of the seven hundred people who had survived were individuals, with their lives, opinions, interests and memories, but now they knew they were irrevocably linked for life. They all suffered the same nightmare, asleep or awake.

And for a moment, all of them were equals.


End file.
